Filling in the Blanks
by bitchy brunette
Summary: Someone is having problems coping. Rating is due to contemplation of suicide.


Title: Filling in the Blanks  
Summary: Someone's having trouble coping.  
Archive: ff.net  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.   
Comments: This was deleted from the system, and I don't know what rule I violated. The only one I can think of is maybe the rating. What does this rate? I gave it a G, I think. Come on, this isn't that bad. I'll give it a high rating, just to be safe, but I think it isn't so bad. Anyway, give it a chance.   
Feedback: kimmie@e-mailanywhere.com  
  
  
  
  
The girl stood alone. 'Alone like always.' She thought, idly twirling the object between her fingers.   
The wind picked up loose strands of her long hair and tossed them in the wind. Lately, things had been tough. Tough was an understatement. She'd lost so much, and come back with so little. Death was a scary thing, and now more than ever it plagued her. Errant thoughts crept through her idle mind, and she shut them off, picturing a spigot. She simply turned the handle, and once again, things were peaceful. Peaceful like her surroundings. All around her the sounds of life, of joy continued, as though nothing was wrong. Why couldn't they tell that everything was wrong?   
The sun gleamed on what she was holding, turning the object that offended the girl into something pretty, and a bauble to be kept at all costs. Her black clothing depressed her, and the heavy makeup she'd applied that morning was beginning to smudge under her eyes. She didn't know why she dressed that way now, or wore so much; it only served to hide her delicate features. At school, everyone avoided her like she had a problem, or was strange. 'They don't know how right they are.' She thought, pulling at a strand of grass with her free hand.   
The sun was just setting now, and it cast a lurid gleam along the edge of the sky. Over the power plant, the girl could make out faint shades of orange and pink. The colors framed the tall towers and smokestacks of the metal building, making it look dignified and simple, rather than the powerful machine it really was. She liked the illusion.   
Then there was the behavior she'd been exhibiting recently. Maybe it was all for attention, like she'd overheard the others say. 'But they don't understand.' She protested, her brows furrowing. It wasn't as though she stole for the sake of owning something pretty or useful. Most of the time she stole strange, unnecessary things, things that only served as clutter. She had a pile of oddly shaped candles, an incense burner in the shape of an old fashioned oil lamp, and two sticks of incense: one patchouli, one honeysuckle. She had a bar of melon-scented soap, a small glass shoe, a huge pile of beads, a long hatpin, and some bracelets with strange quotes printed on them. She also took things to see if she could get away with them. Once she took a handful of the extra long pixie sticks, just to test her ability. No one even noticed her. When she came to school the next morning, she didn't eat one. The girl passed them out, mostly to people she didn't know- other unknowns like herself, ambling from place to place, unsure of where they belonged.  
She became the poster girl of bad at her school. A few of the delinquents had approached her, trying to get her to join them. She'd snubbed them, though, only to be again confronted by the loners, who wanted to follow her every movement, hang on her every word. They'd even tried to dress like her. Again, she decided to ignore them. It felt better to suffer for the want of attention from Them alone. Her grades, already not stunning, fell. She stopped going to class regularly. It was more interesting to try and hide, seeing if she'd get caught. Once she'd walked into the office, and then back out in the hall. Not one of the rent-a-cops looked twice at her. She'd left school then, to wander. But she always came back to the field by the power plant.   
The girl lifted the knife in her hand again, now dull in the darkness. She lifted it, testing the sharpness on a patch of her arm hair. Satisfied that it would do, she held it against her wrist, flat side down. It was cold, and the pulse of her wrist seemed to jump up to touch the cool metal. She was about to shut her eyes and carry out what she'd come here to do, but a voice stopped her.   
"Little bit. What are you doing out here? Rather far from home, isn't it?" Spike drawled, brining a lit cigarette to his lips.  
Dawn turned to look at his boots. She couldn't lift her eyes. She slid the knife into her sleeve, assured she'd not been caught. "Nothing. Just looking at the sunset."   
"Show's over, then. Time to get home; you know you're driving the Slayer mad. She's probably already sent out the search party." Spike studied Dawn's face, nearly translucent in the moonlight.  
"Been over there already?" Dawn asked, trying to keep her voice devoid of emotion.  
"Thankfully, no. I'm sure she's in a bitchy mood, so I'll stay away. What were you doing with that knife?" Dawn looked up, surprised.   
"I'm not that gone, I still have the great vision and all that bloody crap." He defended, holding out a hand.   
"Give it to me." Dawn shook her head, stepping back, slyly hiding the knife tucked into her bra.   
"No." Spike thought the better of following her retreat and forcing her to give the knife to him.   
"Then at least answer my question." Dawn refused to look at him.   
"Why don't you just leave me alone? You've never had a problem doing that before." Her words were clipped and cold.   
Spike's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about, Pet?" The questioning look on his face set Dawn into peals of demented laughter.   
The sound of her laughs made Spike cringe. She sounded like Drusilla. "What do you think I was going to do with it, Spike?" Dawn's voice had taken a teasing edge.   
It was meant to be sarcastic, but it came out more hurtful than anything else. "I think you were going to do something you and I would both regret."   
"Don't fuck with me! You wouldn't regret it. You don't even know I'm alive. All you care about is your precious Buffy." Spike's eyes narrowed.   
"I can take it from you." His voice was low and threatening.   
Dawn laughed. "Go ahead and try. You're not capable anymore, remember?" Her taunts infuriated him, and he tackled her to the grass.   
Spike pinned Dawn to the ground, capturing her arms with his hands and straddling her waist. His legs effectively kept hers from kicking. "Now give me the knife."   
"Try and take it." Dawn told him, smugly. "You don't know where it is."   
"I bloody well saw you put it away. Take it out and give it to me." Dawn rolled her eyes.   
"I can't, you moron, you're holding down my hands." Spike glared at her, but realized this was true.   
"Fine. I'll get it myself." Dawn's eyes widened. "Don't be such a prude. I've seen a lot more."   
He assured her cockily. Spike kept Dawn immobilized on the ground as he slid a cold hand under her top. Dawn wriggled to get free, feeling very violated. Finally he grabbed it, smiling. "Ha. What'd I tell-" Dawn's anger built up, finally exploding.   
With a shove, she pushed Spike away, slamming her fist into his face. She ran away, without even looking back. "That's one hell of a right hook, Little Bit." Spike managed to spit out, rubbing his tender jaw.   
Spike quickly realized she might be going home to tell a tale. He chased after Dawn, cornering her in the graveyard. "Now babe, where were you going?" Dawn glared at him.   
"Leave me alone." Dawn spit out, looking away.   
"I'm not going to tell Buffy, if that's what you followed me for." Spike quickly fibbed, shaken that the girl had seen through him.   
"Maybe I was concerned. Hell, you knocked me flat on my arse. I want to know what else you can do." Dawn raised an eyebrow.   
"I don't know. When I get really mad..." She trailed off.   
Dawn's ice blue eyes met his. "I can do things."  
"Like what kind of things?" Spike prodded gently.   
"Like hitting you. And if I concentrate, I think I could move something by just thinking. But that's it. And if you tell the others, I'll light you on fire." Dawn pulled out a lighter, flipping back the metal lid as proof.   
Spike held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, your secret's safe with me." Dawn looked at him for a moment before snapping the lid shut on the lighter.   
"Ok." Dawn told him, stepping forward.   
"Are you going to let me go?" Spike considered this for a moment.   
"Snag me one of those lighters." He wheedled, smiling charmingly at her.   
Dawn frowned, caught off guard by his utter cuteness. "Fine."   
Spike laughed, backing up. "You're cute when you're fighting mad, Pet."   
"Don't say that if you don't mean it." Dawn said fiercely.   
"What, that you're cute?" Spike laughed again, until Dawn's angered expression stopped him.   
"You always say things like that, to me, to Willow, but all you think about is her. Why? What's wrong with me?" Spike tried not to panic as he thought of a reason.   
"Well, there isn't a good reason. You are rather tender in the age department, you know." He started weakly.   
"Ok, Buffy was just as old as I am when all that with Angel happened. So don't try to tell me I'm too young."   
"Good point." Spike muttered under his breath. "I guess I don't know."   
"Yeah. You don't know." Dawn turned and began to walk away.   
Suddenly it hit him. Here was someone who cared, someone he could love, and who no doubt loved him. But Spike kept pushing it away. "Dawn, wait."   
She stopped, but didn't turn around. Spike reached her, turning her to face him. Spike pulled her up to his level, and kissed her. 'The Slayer's going to kill me. But Little Bit won't forget this anytime soon.' Spike smiled at her, releasing her arms. "I'll walk you home?" Dawn nodded, half-dizzy with shock and surprise.   
"Good then." Wrapping an arm protectively about her waist, they walked off, leaving a stunned Buffy in their wake. 


End file.
